


There Is Heat Beneath Your Winter

by rockmusicplays



Series: Lonely In Your Nightmare [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Derek is a little shit when he wants to be, Episode: s03e20 Echo House, F/M, Fluff, Hales don't know how to use doors, Kissing, Sharing a Bed, Sheriff Stilinski is the actual best dad ever, Stalia, Werewolf!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 01:21:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1247398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockmusicplays/pseuds/rockmusicplays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has been trying to piece together what went on while the Nogitsune was in control. He finds more than answers when he stops by the loft to talk to Malia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Is Heat Beneath Your Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd.
> 
> Story contains a small spoiler for _Mockingjay._ Proceed with caution if you're waiting for the movie.
> 
> Title borrowed from Duran Duran's _Lonely in Your Nightmare_

Stiles found himself hesitating in the hallway outside of Derek's loft. He wasn't comfortable enough with his new wolfy senses yet to be sure that Peter wasn't lurking somewhere on the other side of the steel door. Someone was definitely home. He'd been able to figure out pretty quickly the difference between _there-was-a-werewolf-here-at-some-point_ and _there-is-a-werewolf-here-right-now_ , but differentiating between scents was still above his skill level. The only one he could identify was Scott's.

The Beta let out a startled yelp when the door slammed open without warning. Derek was staring at him, eyebrows raised. "Were you planning on standing out here all afternoon?"

"What? No. No, of course not. I was just..."

"Is everything okay?" Derek asked, motioning for Stiles to come inside.

"As far as I know," Stiles replied, stepping into the loft. "I'm just working my way down the list."

"Has it been helping?"

Stiles shrugged, jamming his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "There are a lot of blanks I don't think I'll ever be able to fill in, but on the bright side? A lot of the really bad stuff was all in my head. So there's that."

"I'm sorry, Stiles. I would have known something was wrong if I'd bothered to check on you guys before Cora and I left town." There was genuine regret and concern in Derek's voice, and it made Stiles uneasy.

The teen had been too busy doing time as the puppet of a pissed off trickster spirit and dying from degenerative brain disease to actually witness the transition from Derek threatening him with bodily harm on a regular basis to being willing to take a bullet for him. He liked this new Derek much better, but it was yet another adjustment on an increasingly long list of adjustments that Stiles now had to deal with.

"You don't have anything to apologize for," Stiles told him. "No one could have seen this mess coming. Werewolves and Kanimas are one thing, but shadow ninjas and a Nogitsune? That was some serious bullshit right there."

Derek laughed and shook his head. "Fair enough."

"You going somewhere?" Stiles asked, noticing for the first time that Derek had his jacket on, car keys in hand.

"I've been told I need to go on a grocery run," Derek replied. "I shouldn't be too long. She's upstairs," he added. Stiles turned towards the staircase, and before he had a chance to say anything Derek was gone, closing the door behind him with a thud that echoed through the silent apartment.

Stiles made it as far as the riser that separated the main area from Derek's 'bedroom' before footsteps sounded in the hallway above his head. A moment later Malia was bounding down the spiral staircase, the structure creaking and clanging beneath her sock-clad feet.

Malia was technically a fugitive, having escaped from Eichen House at the same time the Nogitsune had sprung Stiles. She'd been hiding out at Derek's since then, putting off seeing her father and consequently being sent back to the asylum.

Aside from not wanting to be locked up anymore, Malia was still coming to terms with the fact that her father wasn't actually her father. Deaton was working on an explanation for how a young werewolf was able to take the form of a coyote and maintain it for as long as she had, and everyone else was trying to figure out how the hell Peter had managed to procreate without anyone knowing about it. Including Peter.

Derek had taken her in without question. She was family, and she needed help learning to control the shift. The pack was hopeful that she might be able to take on a Beta form during the next full moon. Between himself and Malia, Stiles strongly suspected that what was left of the Hale house was going to get trashed. It wouldn't be pretty. Especially since Peter was adamant that he would be joining them. As much as the entire pack wanted to tell him where he could shove his offer, they were going to need the extra muscle.

"Hey, Stiles."

"Hi, Malia. How've you been?"

Malia shrugged, pulling the afghan draped around her shoulders in tighter. "Can't complain, I guess. Derek's been surprisingly cool about all of this."

"Family means a lot to him." Malia made a face, and Stiles had to choke back a laugh. Whatever affection she'd developed towards her newly discovered cousin clearly didn't extend to her bio-dad. Stiles could hardly blame her. He wouldn't want to be related to Peter Hale either. Especially that closely.

"What about you? You're holding up okay?"

"Well, I'm starting to feel a little bit like Peeta at this point, but I'm alright." Malia gave him a blank look. "Uh, from _The Hunger Games?_ "

"The what?"

"Yeah, I guess you haven't done much reading in the past decade," Stiles said, rubbing the back of his head. "Well, spoiler alert, Peeta gets snatched up by the Capitol at one point, and when his friends finally get him back, he's pretty messed up. So they start playing this game with him," Stiles explained, flopping down on the sofa.

"What kind of game?" Malia asked, curling up beside him. Before she disappeared under her blanket, Stiles saw she was wearing what looked like two pairs of socks, Derek's sweatpants with the cuffs rolled up, and Scott's hooded lacrosse sweatshirt. Malia pulled her knees up to her chest, leaning back against the arm of the sofa.

"They wanted to reprogram him, so they tortured him. Made him hallucinate. He didn't know what parts had actually happened, and which parts were in his head."

Malia winced. "That sounds uncomfortably familiar."

"They couldn't do much to help him," Stiles went on. "And all he could do was ask questions and try to sort everything out. Which is what I've been doing. And why I'm here."

"You need to ask me questions?"

"Just a couple. For starters, you were a patient at Eichen House when I was admitted. Real or not real?"

"Real," Malia replied.

"The first time you saw me there, you punched me in the face. Real or not real."

Malia laughed. "Real."

Stiles scowled but continued. "You helped me steal keys from an orderly. Real or not real?"

"Real."

"I caught you showering in the men's room?" Stiles gave her a hopeful grin, and she rolled her eyes.

"Real," she said, nudging him with her foot. "And you can stop picturing it now."

"I wasn't picturing anyth-" Malia's eyebrows shot up, and the look she gave him was so reminiscent of Derek that his voice faltered. Stiles cleared his throat. "Right, uh, where was I? Uh, keys!"

"Because you wanted to break into the basement," Malia supplied, poking a hand out of the afghan to wave it in a _go on_ gesture.

"I got busted trying to open the door. Real or not real?"

"Real."

"You got into my room, or cell or whatever, and told me you knew another way in. Real or not real?"

"Not real." Malia frowned. "No one saw you again after you got tossed into lock up."

"Huh." Stiles chewed nervously on his lower lip, running through the memories he had of the basement.

"Why don't you tell me what you think happened, and I'll tell you what I know about what actually happened," Malia suggested.

"We found a whole bunch of old files and equipment down there. Records of some really nasty stuff. Electro shock, trephination, the whole nine yards. None of it was what I was looking for, though. So we ended up..." Stiles trailed off, mentally scolding himself. That was completely irrelevant right now. "Uh, you noticed this mark on the wall. A Japanese symbol that means 'self.' We busted the wall open and found a body that looked just like the thing I'd been dreaming about or hallucinating.

"Then Oliver showed up. He knocked both of us out and tied us to chairs. He was threatening to use the trephination drill we found on you. I kept screaming at him to stop, and then, nothing. It's all a blank after that."

"Well, at no point was I ever tied up and threatened with power tools," Malia assured him. "From what I understand, one of the orderlies went to check on you the next morning, and you knocked him out and escaped. The whole place went into lock down, and before I could get back to my room the counselor, Morel? She dragged me into her office.

"She told me that there was a lot more going on with you than I knew about and that if your friends were going to be able to save you, they were going to need all the help they could get. Apparently, that meant me. She told me to stay put. I hid in her office for over an hour before she came back with my stuff, and then just walked me out the front door."

"Ms. Morel set you loose?"

"Yup. She told me to track Scott down and keep an eye out for you."

"Well that was nice of her," Stiles mused. "Did she bother to tell you what you'd be walking into?"

"Not a word. I get the feeling that both her and that Deaton guy are allergic to straight answers."

Stiles snorted. "You catch on quick." Tilting his head back against the sofa, Stiles closed his eyes. He should have been relieved that the horror show in the institution's basement hadn't actually happened, but he found himself feeling disappointed instead.

Malia seemed to sense that he was holding something back. "Is there something else you wanted to ask me?"

Sighing, Stiles asked, "Was the guard I hit okay?"

"I think so. You didn't kill him if that's what you're worried about."

"Good. That's good," Stiles said absently, staring up at the loft's vaulted ceiling.

"Stiles."

"Hmm?"

"What else happened in the basement? Or, I guess, didn't happen," she amended. "You hesitated before you mentioned the body inside the wall."

"Promise you won't punch me again?" Stiles rolled his head against the sofa so that he was facing her. Malia narrowed her eyes. "Right. Okay then. Well, when the files ended up being useless, we sort of... got sidetracked."

"Sidetracked?" Malia prompted when Stiles failed to continue speaking.

"You kinda, um... Well, you kissed me." Stiles winced, waiting for Malia's reaction. "Twice, actually," he added when all she did was stare at him. "And I may have kissed you back. And it may have escalated slightly from there."

"Escalated?" She was still staring at him, her cheeks coloring slightly. Whether that was from embarrassment or anger, Stiles couldn't quite work out.

"N-nothing that couldn't have aired on network television," he said quickly. "We didn't, um, I mean the sofa was kind of nasty and-"

"Huh."

"Huh?" Stiles blinked, confused. Malia was studying him carefully, her expression pensive. Stiles went very still, trying to make sense of Malia's non-reaction.

Malia tilted her head, shrugged off the afghan, and hauled Stiles in for a kiss by the fabric of his hoodie. Stiles made a startled noise against her lips, and she pulled back.

This was starting to become a reoccurring thing, hot girls kissing him without warning. Heather, Lydia, Caitlin, dream Malia and now real, actual Malia.

"Just once, a heads up would be nice," he muttered, closing the distance between them. Malia hummed, a soft, pleased sound, running her hands over his chest and shoving at him until he was lying back on the sofa. Malia stretched out on top of him, afghan falling forgotten to the floor.

Stiles wasn't sure how long they'd been at it, hands tangling in hair and fabric, fingers and lips running over patches of exposed skin when the door to the loft crashed open. They both startled at the sudden interruption, and Stiles had to fight back a peal of hysterical laughter when he peered over Malia's shoulder and saw Peter standing in the doorway, looking downright murderous.

"Hey! How's it going?" Stiles chirped, waving the hand not fisted in the back of Malia's sweater in greeting. Peter growled, claws out and eyes flashing blue.

"Knock it off, Peter," Derek snapped, shouldering past him with an armload of paper shopping bags.

Malia moved off of Stiles just enough for him to sit up, tucking herself against his side and smirking at Peter. Stiles caught Derek's eye as the younger Hale made his way towards the kitchen, and Derek ducked his head to hide a grin.

"Did you know he was here?" Peter demanded. Derek nodded, busying himself with unpacking the groceries. "And you left them unsupervised?"

"I wasn't aware they needed supervision," Derek replied, failing to keep the amusement out of his voice. Peter bristled, stalking towards the sofa. Stiles briefly considered hiding behind Malia before he remembered that he was a lot harder to kill now. He could snark at the older wolf as much as he wanted.

"I hope you're not about to try and play the Dad card, Peter," Stiles quipped. Malia was shaking with silent laughter, which only served to piss Peter off even more.

"I'm not _playing_ anything. If you would like to keep your hands, you will remove them from my daughter immediately."

"What I do and who I do it with is none of your business," Malia snarled, any trace of humor gone from her expression. "You are not my father. Not in any of the ways that count."

"Malia, how are we supposed to bond with that attitude?" he scolded, his tone mocking.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" she shot back, scrambling to her feet. "Are you insane?"

"So I've been told," said Peter, dryly.

"Derek," Stiles groaned. "Can you please throw him out now?"

"Excuse me?" Peter hissed. "You're the one who's intruding, little pup. This is a family matter."

"Peter, go home," Derek ordered, pointing at the still-open front door. "You wanted to see her, and you've seen her. Stop antagonizing her. It's not going to accomplish anything."

Peter clenched his jaw, and for a moment Stiles thought they were going to have a fight on their hands. With one last venomous look in Stiles' direction, he turned and stomped out of the loft, sliding the door shut behind him hard enough to shake the walls.

"Always a pleasure!" Derek called after him.

~ ~ ~

Stiles was woken out of a sound sleep by the sound of his bedroom window sliding open, letting in the smell of cold air and werewolf. He feigned sleep, trying to suss out whether this was a threat or an intrusion.

"It's just me," whispered Malia, closing the window with a soft click. Stiles propped himself up on his elbows, watching her pad silently across the floor and perch on the edge of the mattress.

"Uh, hey. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. I just couldn't sleep," Malia replied. "So I went for a walk and ended up here."

"And you decided to climb through my window at..." Stiles glanced at his alarm clock. "2:47 and say hello?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have woke you up." Malia moved to stand, and Stiles caught her arm.

"No, hey, it's fine. Really. Just, are you sure you're okay?" Stiles asked, pulling Malia back on to the bed and sitting up. "Most people don't go wandering around in the middle of the night just for the hell of it."

"I've been thinking about Eichen, and how much I don't want to go back there," she said. "There's nothing they can do to help me, but there's no way I can convince my dad of that without telling him what I am. That would mean telling him what I did. And about Peter."

"Yeah, that's not gonna be a fun conversation," Stiles said sympathetically. "Having the 'monsters are real and they live among us' talk with my dad was hard enough when, at the time, none of it involved me directly. I was just werewolf-adjacent."

"And you didn't murder your mother and sister." Malia's voice was strained, and Stiles got the impression she was fighting back tears.

"Do you want to talk about-"

"No," she said sharply.

"That's cool. We don't have to talk. We could do other things." Malia gave him a dirty look, and Stiles cringed. "That, that's not what I meant. I have class in the morning, so I was thinking about going back to sleep. If you would also like to sleep, you're welcome to join me. No funny business, I swear."

"Funny business?" she asked incredulously. "How old are you?"

"It's three in the morning. Give me a break," Stiles grumbled, lying down and pulling his pillow over his face. He heard Malia's quiet chuckle, and the rustle of fabric as she took off her shoes and jacket before crawling under the covers with him.

"Gimme that." She snatched the pillow out of his grasp and tucked it under her head.

"Aw, that's my pillow," he whined, tugging on the corner. "You can't have my pillow."

"Fine." Malia shoved it towards him, resting her head on his chest instead. "Better?"

"Much."

It took a little maneuvering for both of them to get comfortable. They were lying facing each other, legs tangled together and Malia's face tucked against his neck. Stiles shuddered when she slid her hands up the back of his t-shirt. They were ice cold, as was her nose.

"Are you sure you were a coyote and not a polar bear?" Stiles said teasingly, tucking the comforter more securely around them.

"Shut up," she grunted, scratching lightly at his lower back in reprimand. That had Stiles shuddering again, but for an entirely different reason. "What happened to no funny business?" she asked, lips brushing against his jaw as she spoke.

"You started it," he groused.

"And what are you gonna do about it?" Malia pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth, and Stiles groaned.

"Not nearly as much as I'd like to with my dad asleep down the hall." Malia laughed, and Stiles muffled the sound with a kiss of his own.

This was much different than what they'd gotten up to on Derek's sofa that afternoon. There was no sense of urgency. Stiles was content just to learn the shape of her mouth and what it felt like to have her pressed against him in the dark, all soft curves and sleepy warmth.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew his dad was going to be less than impressed if he happened to check on Stiles before he left for the station, but he couldn't bring himself to care. After the year he'd had, getting caught with a girl in his bed would be a welcome kind of trouble. A _normal_ kind of trouble.

When his bedroom door swung open a little before six, Stiles braced himself. One minute stretched into two, then into three. He knew Malia was awake, felt her fingers curl around the fabric of his sleep pants against his hip. Finally, he cracked an eye open.

The sheriff was leaning against the doorjamb, watching the pair of them with a mixture of irritation and disbelief. Stiles grinned sheepishly, and his father scowled.

"Morning, Dad."

"Stiles." A long, awkward silence followed.

Malia shifted restlessly beside him, apparently deciding that faking sleep wasn't going to help. Rolling over so that her back was against Stiles' front, she offered a hesitant "Good morning, Sheriff."

"Malia," Sheriff Stilinski replied. Stiles winced. One-word responses were not a good sign. The sheriff sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Son, do we need to have a conversation?"

"C-conversation? No. Nope. No conversation needed." _Smooth, Stiles. Real smooth._

"You sure about that?"

"Absolutely. But uh, I will let you know if, at some point in the future that is not right this second, that becomes a thing that is necessary." Stiles was rambling. He was painfully aware of that fact. But there was a person of the female persuasion in his bed, and his father was threatening him with The Talk. While said female was still _in his bed._

"Don't be late for school." The sheriff pulled the door shut with more force than was really necessary, and both teens remained perfectly still until they heard his cruiser pull out of the driveway and disappear down the street.

"That went well," Malia said, breaking the silence. Stiles groaned, pressing his face against Malia's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, Stiles." After a moment, she added, "My dad probably would have shot you."

Stiles barked out a startled laugh. "Which one?"

"Dad absolutely would have shot you. I'm thinking Peter would get a lot more creative than that," she mused.

"Creative. That's one word for it." Peter had looked ready to castrate him just for catching Stiles kissing Malia. He had a feeling that if whatever this was progressed into something more, his life would get very interesting, very quickly. Interesting being another word for _terrifying._

"So, grounded?" Malia guessed.

"Y'know, I might actually get a pass this time. He's still pretty relieved that I'm not dying anymore. I may be able to use that to my advantage." Stiles laced their fingers together and closed his eyes. He still had half an hour until his alarm went off, and he intended to be unconscious for the full thirty minutes.

"Does that mean you'll be able to come by the loft after school today and help me figure out how to tell my dad?" Malia asked.

"I'm sorry, do you _want_ me to get shot?"

"No!" Malia laughed. "Not about this. About the rest of it. The stuff we didn't talk about last night."

"In that case, yes."

Stiles dozed until the alarm blared to life.

"No. Stay," Malia whined, rolling over and burrowing against his chest. "Please?"

"I'd love to. Really, I would. But if I miss class I'm screwed."

"But I'm finally warm."

Stiles did his best to ignore the swooping sensation in his stomach that told him he was already in over his head with this girl. "Tell you what. You stay right here and go back to sleep. When you feel like moving, you can help yourself to whatever is in the kitchen. I'll let Derek know you're here, and I'll take you back to the loft after school. Sound good?" Malia nodded, releasing her hold on him.

Stiles slid carefully out from under the covers, smiling to himself when Malia immediately cocooned herself up in them, disappearing from view. He grabbed some clothes and ducked into the bathroom to change and get ready for the day. By the time he came back for his backpack, Malia was out like a light, only the top half of her face peeking out of the blankets.

He sent Derek a text on his way out the door, with explicit instructions that Peter not be allowed to know where Malia was. Peter Hale showing up at his house would not end well for anyone. His phone was buzzing in his pocket before he'd even started his Jeep. Frowning, Stiles pulled his phone out. He never had Derek pegged for a morning person, and if he'd woken Sour Wolf up this early, he doubted that would end well, either.

The text wasn't from Derek. It was from his dad.

_What does it say about me as a parent that I'm more upset about you having a fugitive in your room than I am about catching you with a girl?_

Stiles chewed on one of the strings on his hoodie for a moment before sending back _It says you have your priorities in order._

_So it won't happen again, right?_

_Nope. She won't be a fugitive for much longer._

Stiles was almost at the high school when the reply finally came through. He hopped out of the Jeep and leaned against the side before opening the message.

_Looks like we'll be having that conversation after all._

Stiles was laughing so hard students were gawking at him on their way by. A very confused Scott came wandering over from where he'd been standing with Isaac and Lydia.

"Everything okay?" he asked warily.

"Absolutely."

_Sorta have to deal with the fugitive thing after school. You can yell at me later, ok?_

_Deal._

Stiles stuck his phone into the pocket of his hoodie, snagged his backpack from the passenger seat, and locked up. Scott was still looking at him strangely as the two of them made their way towards the front doors.

"Dude, why do you smell like Malia?"

Stiles grinned and threw his arm around his best friend's shoulders. "Scotty, do I have a story for you..."

**Author's Note:**

> I may have accidentally ended up with a new OTP. Oops. I wanted to get this posted before Jeff Davis has a chance to do something stupid and ruin Malia for me. I'm totally cool with her being Peter's kid if that's really the case, but if she's evil or gets killed off, I will be furious. Malia is kind of awesome, and she and Stiles are really cute together. Let Stiles get the girl this time, Davis!
> 
> Also, I know Peter is being weirder than usual here, but the way I see it? Most fathers get a good 15-16 years to come to terms with the fact that at some point a guy is going to have his tongue down their daughter's throat. Peter has only had a couple of weeks. And he's Peter.


End file.
